the doors and Caroline was peeking underneath William’s arm.
Her gaze landed on a familiar strawberry blond queue, tied neatly with a narrow green ribbon; her eyes traveled over his thick neck and broad shoulders. The scent of lemony spice filled her nostrils.
He was seated in a chair, facing away from her. At the commotion, Henry turned around. They met eyes, and then Caroline ducked, foolishly, behind William, as if she might hide there.
Oh, God.
“Lady Violet,” William was saying, “would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a stroll about the park? I feel a bit of fresh air might better clear our minds of last night’s unfortunate events. My sister, Caroline, has generously offered to chaperone us.”
William turned just as Caroline was making to stand; he caught her head between his arm and torso.
Oh, God .
From her perch she peered into the room, hair pulled over her eyes, and managed a smile even as she wished, for a moment, that she might suffer an apoplexy and die.
In a heartbeat Henry was on his feet, looking down at Caroline as she struggled to her own.
In the next heartbeat William was leading Violet into the hall and toward the front door.
“Well, then.” Henry held out his arm. “To the park?”
* * *
F or the first several minutes of said stroll, Caroline and Henry spoke in fits and starts.
“Oh,” she said, trampling his foot. “Sorry . . . er, about that.”
“Yes.” Henry cleared his throat. “Indeed.”
“Indeed, a lovely afternoon. Look there, a swan.”
“Yes.” An awkward pause. “The swan.”
“It is white.”
“White, yes. Like. Ah. Snow. Pretty?”
Caroline did her best to ignore the burn that shot up her arm from the place where his elbow swallowed her palm.
Beside her, Henry shuffled along; his limp had returned with a vengeance.
“Are you—um—all right to walk? We might sit—”
“No,” he said. He sounded angry, suddenly. “Let’s keep moving.”
“Oh. Yes, yes of course.”
Caroline glanced about the park—it was the fashionable hour, and crowded—worried that someone was watching them; that their shared secret could be read in the tightness of Henry’s mouth, in the heat that mottled her face.
A few paces ahead, William’s head was bent toward Lady Violet’s; she turned and smiled at something he murmured in her ear. Desire was writ clearly on their faces; neither seemed to very much care who saw them.
Watching them filled Caroline with longing.
“I am sorry,” Henry said. His voice was low and rough.
She started. “Sorry?”
“I promised to let you be. You never wanted to see me again after last night, remember?”
Caroline looked up at him. He glanced sideways at her. His temples were damp with sweat.
“I remember,” she said slowly. “But this is hardly your fault. I volunteered to chaperone, and William—well, he can hardly keep his pants on when it comes to Lady Violet.”
Henry’s shoulders lifted with a scoff. “Your brother can’t keep his pants on, period.”
“I know. He claims he’s getting better. But there’s something different about this one.” Together they stepped around an enormous Irish wolfhound tugging a poor footman about by a thick leather leash. “The way he looks at her, and how attentive he is—I haven’t been with him much these past years, but I can tell he likes her.”
Henry turned to her. “He treats you well, your brother?”
“Yes. As best he can, anyway. He can be annoying, a bitpatronizing. I wish he’d realize that I am close to thirty and far too tired to get into any sort of trouble.”
A beat of silence passed between them as they walked; this one wasn’t companionable, not by a long ways, but it felt less painful than the last few.
When Henry spoke, his voice was low. “Does he know about us?”
“No.” Caroline trained her gaze on the ground. “You remember, he was away at Eton when we . . . when it happened. I haven’t told him.
Her gaze landed on a familiar strawberry blond queue, tied neatly with a narrow green ribbon; her eyes traveled over his thick neck and broad shoulders. The scent of lemony spice filled her nostrils.
He was seated in a chair, facing away from her. At the commotion, Henry turned around. They met eyes, and then Caroline ducked, foolishly, behind William, as if she might hide there.
Oh, God.
“Lady Violet,” William was saying, “would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a stroll about the park? I feel a bit of fresh air might better clear our minds of last night’s unfortunate events. My sister, Caroline, has generously offered to chaperone us.”
William turned just as Caroline was making to stand; he caught her head between his arm and torso.
Oh, God .
From her perch she peered into the room, hair pulled over her eyes, and managed a smile even as she wished, for a moment, that she might suffer an apoplexy and die.
In a heartbeat Henry was on his feet, looking down at Caroline as she struggled to her own.
In the next heartbeat William was leading Violet into the hall and toward the front door.
“Well, then.” Henry held out his arm. “To the park?”
* * *
F or the first several minutes of said stroll, Caroline and Henry spoke in fits and starts.
“Oh,” she said, trampling his foot. “Sorry . . . er, about that.”
“Yes.” Henry cleared his throat. “Indeed.”
“Indeed, a lovely afternoon. Look there, a swan.”
“Yes.” An awkward pause. “The swan.”
“It is white.”
“White, yes. Like. Ah. Snow. Pretty?”
Caroline did her best to ignore the burn that shot up her arm from the place where his elbow swallowed her palm.
Beside her, Henry shuffled along; his limp had returned with a vengeance.
“Are you—um—all right to walk? We might sit—”
“No,” he said. He sounded angry, suddenly. “Let’s keep moving.”
“Oh. Yes, yes of course.”
Caroline glanced about the park—it was the fashionable hour, and crowded—worried that someone was watching them; that their shared secret could be read in the tightness of Henry’s mouth, in the heat that mottled her face.
A few paces ahead, William’s head was bent toward Lady Violet’s; she turned and smiled at something he murmured in her ear. Desire was writ clearly on their faces; neither seemed to very much care who saw them.
Watching them filled Caroline with longing.
“I am sorry,” Henry said. His voice was low and rough.
She started. “Sorry?”
“I promised to let you be. You never wanted to see me again after last night, remember?”
Caroline looked up at him. He glanced sideways at her. His temples were damp with sweat.
“I remember,” she said slowly. “But this is hardly your fault. I volunteered to chaperone, and William—well, he can hardly keep his pants on when it comes to Lady Violet.”
Henry’s shoulders lifted with a scoff. “Your brother can’t keep his pants on, period.”
“I know. He claims he’s getting better. But there’s something different about this one.” Together they stepped around an enormous Irish wolfhound tugging a poor footman about by a thick leather leash. “The way he looks at her, and how attentive he is—I haven’t been with him much these past years, but I can tell he likes her.”
Henry turned to her. “He treats you well, your brother?”
“Yes. As best he can, anyway. He can be annoying, a bitpatronizing. I wish he’d realize that I am close to thirty and far too tired to get into any sort of trouble.”
A beat of silence passed between them as they walked; this one wasn’t companionable, not by a long ways, but it felt less painful than the last few.
When Henry spoke, his voice was low. “Does he know about us?”
“No.” Caroline trained her gaze on the ground. “You remember, he was away at Eton when we . . . when it happened. I haven’t told him.
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